


a delicate balance

by nightbloomings



Series: prompts [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loud, boisterous crowd in the Hanged Man is obviously in stark contrast to the austere atmosphere of the Chantry, which Sebastian will readily admit he generally prefers. But there’s a certain spark of life that’s noticeably absent from the quiet echo of the Chantry corridors, and now he’s watching that spark as it sits across the solid wood table from him in Varric’s room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a delicate balance

It’s not often that Sebastian finds himself out at night in places like the Hanged Man, and as he leans back in his chair to watch Hawke, Varric and Fenris begin their third round of Diamondback, he also finds himself wondering why he shouldn’t spend more nights like this. The loud, boisterous crowd is obviously in stark contrast to the austere atmosphere of the Chantry, which Sebastian will readily admit he generally prefers. But there’s a certain spark of life that’s noticeably absent from the quiet echo of the Chantry corridors, and now he’s watching that spark as it sits across the solid wood table from him in Varric’s room.

Sebastian isn’t playing the game alongside the others, and he’s rather sure that he’d likely not be here if not for the fact that they’d come directly from the Wounded Coast into Lowtown. And as Sebastian well knows, all roads through Lowtown lead to the hearth of the Hanged Man – or, at least, they do when in present company.

“Hawke, some day you’ll learn that there’s an art to Diamondback,” Varric says, drawing his cards close to his chest and leaning forward to look at Hawke squarely. “There’s more to this than just picking whichever card winks at you first and throwing it down on the table.”

“But Varric,” Hawke drawls, before taking a sip of ale, “that’s how I handle  _all_  of my affairs – whoever winks at me first gets thrown onto the table first.” He looks pointedly at Varric and gives him a wink.

Varric rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “At least you’ve got it figured, Broody, so we can maybe squeeze a few half-challenging rounds out of this evening.”

“Happy to be of service,” Fenris says with a scoff, not lifting his eyes from the cards in his hands as he pulls one out and puts it on the pile in the middle of the table.

“Sebastian,” Hawke says into his tankard, his mouth on the edge of it before he takes a quick sip, his eyes looking across the table at Sebastian. “You’re sure you’re not interested in a hand?”

Sebastian clears his throat and puts down his goblet of wine. “Oh, aye – I’ll leave the gambling to those of us here who needn’t answer to the Bride of the Maker before they go to sleep tonight.”

“Well put, I’ll drink to that,” Varric says, raising his tankard before playing his hand.

Though there are times when his vows could be an inconvenience, Sebastian doesn’t consider this evening to be one such time. He’s quite content to sit back with his goblet and watch Hawke in the warm, dimmed light of the tavern.

Truthfully, Sebastian knows he’d take the opportunity to watch Hawke in any light, in any place. The urge to scold himself for his fascination with the man had abated, sometime between when they’d nearly lost Hawke to the Arishok’s blade and when he’d finally emerged again from his estate and turned left up the stairs of the Chantry, passing through the large wooden doors with Sebastian’s name on his lips.

There’s a mutual understanding, Sebastian knows – his vows are what they are and that Hawke takes them as such puts him all the more at ease.

It’s a delicate balance, though – and one that’s helped none by the sight of Hawke’s bare arms in his sleeveless tunic and vest.

Sebastian normally sees those arms fully armoured, hefting a massive steel sword to the necks of whichever foe they’re fighting that day. Tonight, though, Hawke’s arms are bare, the muscles shifting slightly under skin as he lifts a massive tin tankard to his lips.

Sebastian lets out a slight huff and lifts his own goblet to take a sip of wine. He meets Hawke’s eyes over the lip of the goblet as Hawke drinks his ale. There’s a smile on his lips when he lowers the tankard – something small, but knowing, and it’s enough to send a rush of heat through Sebastian’s centre. He takes another quick sip of wine to extinguish the sensation and then puts the goblet back on the table, pushing it a little further away, lest he grow inebriated.

Hawke glances down at his hand of cards, and puts a broad fingertip to his mouth, rubbing it along his plump lower lip. Sebastian’s eyes fall on Hawke’s mouth as if by some sort of undeniable instinct, a moth to flame. Hawke wears a full beard, cropped close, but Sebastian knows that the lips amongst the thatch of short, coarse hair would be soft – he’s spent enough time watching them as Hawke speaks to be able to deduce as much.

Hawke pulls his hand from his mouth finally, and plays a card. He looks over at Sebastian as he does, and Sebastian’s sure it’s a deliberate thing. Deliberate, also, has to be Hawke’s move when he stretches his arms out in front of him, the tight muscles that thread down from his shoulder and into the curve of his elbow to his forearm jumping as he flexes, punctuated by a light sort of groan.

Sebastian swallows, though his mouth is dry. Hawke may not know the art of Diamondback, but it’s clear that he well knows the art of playing to Sebastian’s interests.

Sebastian reaches for his goblet and finishes the contents in one pull. Were he concerned with being polite, he’d wait for the current round of cards to finish, but he doesn’t wish to give Hawke further chance to test him. It’s another fne balance, knowing how far to let the flirtations and temptations go before they become too much and tip the scales.

“I’ll take my leave of you all now,” Sebastian says, rising from his chair and straightening his mail tunic. “Varric, take pity on Hawke – he knows not what he gets himself into, at least not so far as Diamondback is concerned.”

Hawke puts his cards face down on the table, and for a moment Sebastian thinks he might stand too. “Sebastian, are you still able to take the trek up Sundermount tomorrow?”

Sebastian nods and moves to collect his bow and quiver, strapping them across his back. “Aye, available as ever, Hawke.”

Hawke grins, and Sebastian fights against his own answering smile. “It’ll be an early morning, but I suspect you’ll be up even earlier?”

Sebastian lets slip a slight half-smile and he nods as he bids goodbye to the table again. He moves quickly through the front room and out into the cold of Lowtown, thankful for it’s bracing air, another stark contrast to the warmth of the Hanged Man.


End file.
